


Too Much Fucking Salt

by Yidkirkin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily (DCU), Bittersweet Ending, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Dead Joker (DCU), Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jason Todd Has Mental Health Issues, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Jason Todd Kills Joker (DCU), Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, directly pulls from the awful way rebirth handled jason and bruce, its ok jason does NOT die he just has a lot of trouble, oh god i just realized how the tags look, this one is kinda heavy guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidkirkin/pseuds/Yidkirkin
Summary: A rural housewife instinctively understood the law of quantity into quality. Add a pinch of salt to a soup and it tasted better; add one pinch too many and you ruined the batch. Jason had been in limbo for a year and a half, trusting things would get better even though everything just seemed to be getting worse. It was something small that set him off, but really, it was an accumulation of a lot of things that led to this. He was going to kill the Joker.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Gotham City & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU) & Jason Todd, Roy Harper & Jason Todd
Comments: 24
Kudos: 297





	Too Much Fucking Salt

**Author's Note:**

> I hate the way DC treats Jason (and honestly all their characters at points) so much. This is as much me venting about it as trying to explore my own deep seated emotional trauma through the medium of Batman characters, so take that as you will. It isn't that deep, but made me feel better. This has bits of different ‘canons’ throughout, so don’t sweat the small stuff, but I’m actually going easy on B here (no slitting J’s throat in this fic! But a lot of this is definitely drawn from the rebirth RHATO series). Set in an ambiguous time after Jason came back to Gotham when the Outlaws broke up. He is not doing well.

Jason had been doing well, lately.

Part of it was the transition –he had been cleaning and packing up for a few days, getting ready to move safehouses, and that always put him in a good mood, a holdover from spending most of his free time as a teenager with Alfred. He was scheduled to go to Star City in a week to help Roy out with a sensitive investigation and once that was done he knew his friend wouldn’t mind if he hung around a few days, trading cooking their meals for the time to decompress in Roy’s shitty apartment. One of his own cases had just closed with a satisfying explosion, as he destroyed the bulk supply of the fancy new drug Black Mask was trying to bring into Gotham. He had even visited the Batcave briefly to look over some evidence and hadn’t felt like shooting Bruce or Damian even once.

Maybe that was what put the pressure on. Being around the family always had him on edge no matter how well the visit went, always braced for a back handed remark about his methods or a flinch when he moved too fast near his holsters. It happened sparingly, but Jason didn’t begrudge them their caution –he’d been fucked up and _nasty_ when he first came back to Gotham, anger and hatred burning him from the inside out, though nowadays he could keep it under wraps.

What _got_ him was the way they talked, or looked at him, sometimes. When Dick reminded him to use his rubber bullets before every joint patrol, even though he had never missed a single check; when Bruce glanced his way all the times the news mentioned a dead mobster in Crime Alley, a furrow in his brow like he was trying to recall where Jason was that day; when Cassandra put herself in between Jason and the others anytime he got even the slightest bit worked up. They didn’t trust him, even after years playing by their rules. But it was _fine_.

He’d been doing _well_ lately, besides the tension that gathered between his shoulders whenever he stepped foot into, or underneath, Wayne Manor.

As he puttered around, he planned out the next day in his head. He had agreed with Leslie not to go out on patrol for a few nights, which was partially why he was taking the time to move now. If everything went well, he could drive the van here tomorrow morning and have everything packed away before the sun came up –he never unpacked the same day for security reasons, but that just gave him time to make arrangements for anyone he owed a favour to in the building. He should probably fix Ms Vresk’s door while she still had the mobility to tell him where to move all her knickknacks.

Jason had just closed one of the cardboard boxes filled with his civilian clothes when he heard it, and his pulse instantly went rabbit-quick. The siren that was warbling through Crime Alley was almost like a tornado warning in how eerily it rattled through the windows, but the signal for an Arkham breakout was much, much worse than any tornado could ever be. Feeling his brain go fuzzy around the edges, Jason rushed into his kitchen and slapped at the radio to turn it on, tuning into Gotham Hour News to get the update like so many in the city were doing at the same time.

_“-termine the exact time of the breakout, the best estimate is 1600 hours today, but rest assured, Gotham, the GCPD will track down the Joker in no ti-“_

Jason didn’t hear the rest, because his blood went cold and his heartbeat started pounding in his ears and drowned out all other sound. His hands went to the chipped counter top to steady himself, the rush of dread making his knees momentarily weak. It was always like this. He could be on top of the world, all his issues behind him and sleeping most of the way through his daily eight hours –and then _his_ name would drop, and so would Jason.

There had only been once that he hadn’t felt panic clawing at his brain at the shadow of the Joker, and Batman had shattered that peace with a batarang in his gun and a hand each on both Jason and Joker’s bodies when the bomb went off. Jason hadn’t stuck around long enough to subject himself to the sight of his father digging Jason’s worst nightmare out of the rubble.

As it was, this time was worse than usual. There was a pressure behind his eyes, in his chest, and he had to force himself to breathe with the control exercises Talia drilled into him over his first year under her patronage. The air hurt as he dragged it in but he kept going, deep lungfuls that staved off hyperventilation for the moment but did nothing to keep his hands from shaking, his eyes from stinging with tears. He hadn’t cried when he was kidnapped, not when he was being taken apart with each swing of the crowbar, and not in the quiet minute before the bomb went off. He hadn’t cried when Batman saved his life, nor when he had taken the crowbar to _Joker’s_ body in retaliation, not even after, _after_ , when he felt like he was going to die huddled in the catacombs.

Jason cried when he was unmasked, when he had two locked doors and a loaded handgun between himself and the streets of his hometown, when no one could see him. Jason hated crying.

He grabbed a dishtowel and tried to wipe at his face and winced harshly as he bumped into the bad bruise on his face, the still healing gash on his forehead from the goons he had to knock out in order to plant the bombs in Black Mask’s warehouse two nights ago. There was a bullet wound in his side, lucky shot, but when he checked on it the convulsions he had been going through in his panic didn’t seem to have torn any of the stitches. Small mercies, but it still left him vulnerable. He hated being in less than top form even more than crying, because it meant it would be harder for him to survive this time if Joker came after him agai-

No. No thoughts like that. Jason heard his knees creak as he lowered himself to the floor and pressed the uninjured part of his forehead against the grainy spruced-up particle board that served as the doors to all his cupboards. Time slipped for a little while.

_“-all Gotham residents within three blocks of Barrett Park, please be advised not to leave your homes. GCPD spokesman Edward Lewis has confirmed three deaths via Joker Venom within the park itself, if you believe you’ve been exposed or witnessed an exposure please call-“_

Jason didn’t vomit, but he thought it might have made him feel better. He wanted to get rid of this ugly black mass in his chest, wanted this all to _stop_ , he just wanted the clown fucking _dead!_ Anything to let him fucking sleep, anything to make the flash of tooth and grin leave his subconscious, he would even go and grab his gun if he could stand and just –Jason reached up to his collarbone and hovered over the bruise winding its way under his skin, and he punched down.

The pain shocked him out of his head, and even though he gasped for air in the aftermath and curled in on himself, his train of thought steadied out. The throb centred him, brought him back from the spiral of panic he was being drawn into, and when he pushed himself back up off the floor he could breathe again.

Joker was out of Arkham –so where the fuck was the _family_? The radio droned in the background, moving on to the weather until they would inevitably have to report another death. Jason looked for his phone and felt an itch under his skin at the nonchalance of such a thing –a whole city on alert for _one man_ who could easily be dispatched with a bullet between the eyes. Jason hadn’t been able to do it, way back when, too fixated on Bruce and betrayal and his fury at it all. He hadn’t gone for it since, because as luck would have it Joker had only escaped while he had been otherwise occupied –and he wanted to keep his promise to Bruce.

Jason didn’t kill anymore, hadn’t in nearly 18 months, but sometimes it felt like that didn’t matter. There was always a word about his guns, always a wary glance when he was frustrated, always a set of eyes on him when he ventured out of Crime Alley.

Times like this, he felt like he could break that promise and live with the consequences. What was more cold shouldering compared to hours and hours crammed in his bathtub with a handgun at the ready every time he dreamt about the warehouse? What was another lecture from Bruce when he couldn’t get his brain to _shut up_ about exit routes and hidden lock picks and the tracker signal he’d given to Roy, even when all he was doing was trying to help Alfred with the dishes at the Manor? What was being locked up in Arkham or Blackgate when every time Joker got loose another house was torched, another street was bombed, another person died?

He found his phone and unlocked it to check if anyone had thought to let him know. Probably not –Oracle sometimes sent him the notes after the fact, but he still wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to make him feel better or if it was some weird power play about the amount of information he was allowed to have. It wasn’t like he was ever left in the Batcave without supervision.

There was only one message. Later, Jason wouldn’t be able to explain why _that_ had been the trigger that made him break down. He had done a lot of work the past several years to figure out what set him off so he could keep it in check around the family –both so he didn’t intimidate the younger ones and so he didn’t give Bruce or Dick more ammunition for their distrust. Their wariness. He could recognize that certain look they sometimes got, where they were going over how to incapacitate him efficiently and with the least amount of violence possible. It was fine –he did the same to them.

It was from Bruce. Later, that was about the only thing that made any sense.

_Do not leave your safehouse. We have it handled._

It was sent at 1700 hours, exactly an hour after the GCPD believed the breakout had occurred, and it was creeping up to 2100 now. In his ear, the generic warble of the radio host reported another two bodies found with smiles etched onto their faces. Out the window, the sky was already a deep red with grey clouds hanging low in the air, and in the distance an explosion lit up the night ready to engulf whatever building Joker’s whims had taken him to now. Jason could practically hear the cackling already.

One of Talia’s tutors had taught him about philosophy, and the lesson on Marxist theory had caught his attention because of its practical uses, even if it was a little cerebral at first. What was it... quantity into quality. The guy tried to explain it with talk about the paradox of the heap of grain and the bald head. You have a grain, you add one more –does that make it a heap? Add another, how about now? You have a head of hair and you take one out, is it bald yet? Take another away, and another, it still it isn’t bald. Yet eventually, you take a hair and add a grain and you do get a heap and a bald head –a small change made a big difference when the conditions were right.

Jason hadn’t been too into ancient Greek mind puzzles, to say the least. It had stuck when the tutor, annoyed, told him that even a rural housewife instinctively knew what he was talking about –if she added a pinch of salt to a soup, it made it taste better, but if she added one pinch too many she would ruin the soup entirely. A lot of his early tutors taught him control; how to push just far enough that he could control the break himself. He hadn’t thought about control in a long time.

Maybe that was the pressure, the tipping point, the straw that broke the camel’s back. Losing sleep every other night, being watched on joint patrol, never left alone in the cave, not kept in the loop; he had come back to try and _control_ his life and the crime in Gotham, and he had lost nearly all control by now. He and Bruce could never stop arguing, because even though Jason had _promised_ , that just wasn’t good enough. Bruce knew he didn’t believe in his rule. Bruce had never been willing to look at things from his perspective, so Jason had stopped trying to offer it. One more grain; one less hair; add another straw. Too much fucking salt.

He had left the Joker alive too long.

_“-fire from the bomb has engulfed the apartment building on the corner of East 4 th and South 26th in-“_

Jason knew where that was. Joker wouldn’t still be there now that he was _trying_ to grab Batman’s attention. But Jason also knew where the clown would go next.

He didn’t bother with the frills, not with his stomach stitched up and his chest bruised to hell –he shrugged on his fatigues and utility belt and the first jacket he pulled from the box in front of his closet, an old one he hadn’t worn since before he added the bat insignia to his chest. Three guns were as many as he could fit on him at this point, two full of tranquilizers in the small of his back and his best handgun in the sling at his side, another piece he hadn’t worn in years. Once upon a time, it had been easy to use it to distract his opponents, make them think him overconfident and under-armed, until their attention slipped and he took them out.

The family thought he killed criminals indiscriminately, because when he came back all they gathered from his motivations was that when he took someone out, that was it. But Jason wasn’t some kind of serial killer. When he came back he also took _control,_ and he had seen the statistics –crime went down. If he had to kill someone it was only ever the ones who deserved it, and since he left nothing behind but his reputation _that_ was usually enough to draw ire away from the surrounding civilians and onto him. At night, he slept like a fucking baby –he was up there with Riddler and Catwoman in terms of lack of collateral damage. Where he lost sleep was the situation that had crept up on him ever since he realigned with Batman. The new players who worked against him, the kids getting involved again, the guys lately, who he helped amass evidence on and tracked over weeks and broke their bones or hit with rubber bullets and who, like clockwork, were spat back out onto the streets.

He’d only gotten busier since making that promise to Bruce; no matter how many scumbags he put away more crawled out of the woodwork, even more violent than before, even more crafty. When he was Robin there were the gangs and the mob, sure, Two Face barely in business five years, but now there were creeps like Black Mask and Zsasz stalking his neighbourhood, the drugs were getting worse, the deaths more frequent and grisly. He couldn’t stop it, he had lost control of his operation and things were spinning out.

He felt cold as he laced his boots up tight. At least when Red Hood killed someone it was to _stop_ them. At least Zsasz had his creepy ritual driving him. At least _Roman_ fucking killed you for a reason if he got you in his warehouse, the face peeling freak –Joker did it for shits and giggles and not a damn thing else. Was it worth killing him? Was he just selfish?

Sometimes he did the math in his head; whether things would get worse if he ended up in Blackgate, if Joker was just another body in the ground. On his good days, after tea with Alfred or sparring with Tim without the kid holding back on him, he told himself it would be bad if he got locked up. He told himself the businesses and girls under his protection would get brutalized and torn apart, and that if he wasn’t there to slow the drug trade it would bust open like a broken dam.

There weren’t many days like that where he could bring himself to lie. The cave was a cold place and it offered its truth whenever he arrived there unexpectedly and made Dick tense in anticipation of a fight. The truth was, if Jason got locked up for murdering the son of a bitch, nothing would change. He had already lost what he came back to gain. Gotham chewed you up and spit the bad parts out to live another day, but the city sheltered its own, for a time. Jason’s time had been when he was freshly a Wayne and still had magic in his eyes. He had known for awhile he was flat out of it, ever since Honey looked him in the mask during one of their late night talks and told him the girls would understand if he wanted to uproot himself and never come back. Defanged, she said, he was only killing himself.

He still remembered what it was like to want to die so bad you dragged everyone else along with you –he couldn’t say she was wrong.

He threw his helmet on and climbed out the window into the Gotham night. His side stung in warning, but he had gone out and fought with worse, with far less important ideas in his head.

“ _Hood, you aren’t cleared for patrol_ ,” Oracle said into his ear, the sound of typing an ever present background noise. It reminded Jason of the ticking of a bomb.

“Didn’t ask,” he said shortly. With his side like this, he wouldn’t be swinging anytime soon; he took careful leaps and jumps down to the alley where he’d stashed his bike. He had stalked Joker for so long, kept his haunts in the back of his mind with such dedicated focus, that if he couldn’t find the clown before the rest of the family he’d be disappointed in himself.

“ _And I’m not suggesting. Hood, go back home, the situation’s nearly sorted out._ ”

Underneath the odd calm that had washed over him, irritation stirred prickling and hot. He shoved the bike in gear and pulled his gloves on, and his mind shot back to that text. Five hours, five deaths, one burnt out husk of what used to be an apartment building. There would be more, once the city eased up and got around to combing Amusement Mile and the woods surrounding Arkham –there always were.

“Ah, who’s handled it? Seems a little quick for the old man,” Jason sat for a moment, making it look like he was considering Oracle’s little command. She hummed and the tapping got louder, and Jason could tell she was distracted, that the situation was not at all _handled. He_ was the one she was trying to keep reined in.

 _“B, N, Red and Batgirl. There’s no need for any backup_ ,” she reported with the upmost certainty. Usually if Oracle said something like that Jason was inclined to listen, since she had been around nearly as long as Dick. The woman knew their fights and their odds inside and out.

But right now, there were only four vigilantes between him and the clown, and Oracle –Barbie wouldn’t understand. None of them understood, and he’d accepted that a long time ago. With Cassandra and Damian both down for the count at the Manor, there wouldn’t be backup available unless she went outside Gotham –and fortunately for him, Barbie was just as territorial as Bruce. His reputation as a hot headed thug was good for this, at least, for making her underestimate him until it was too late.

“Thanks for the update, O. Then I guess it’ll be alright if I go an’ rubber-neck a little,” he heard the beginning of a protest right before he shut his helmet off. No comms meant he wasn’t going to get a warning –but also there would be no one in his ear distracting him, trying to talk him out of this.

For once, Jason felt sure. At the risk of over-using a metaphor, that text from Bruce had been the salt in the wound he needed to make him _move_. Batman always talked about people facing the consequences of their actions. Well, Red Hood would face whatever came for him once this was done and _Joker_ had finally faced the consequences of the grave he had dug, even if it led Jason right back into it.

As he sped along the deserted streets, Jason thought about consequences. The worst things that had happened to him had been because of the decisions of people he had no control over; his mother’s addiction and death, Willis’s abuse and imprisonment, getting murdered, getting resurrected, and the final nail in the coffin of Bruce stopping him from killing the Joker. With time and separation from that anger he was consumed by, he could acknowledge that... he agreed with Bruce, that Batman could never kill the Joker. _Should_ never. Bruce saw no merit in death, which had only ever taken from him, while Jason knew what a mercy death could be. It wasn’t a failing, exactly. In fact, Jason had grown up and realized that the man who adopted him was _deeply fucked up._ Bruce wasn’t like Jason –if Bruce killed, he would keep doing it and never stop. They were not the same.

And he knew Bruce loved him. Or he hoped that was the case. Because this mixed signal shit from his father was killing him too, and that was yet another tipping point he was coming very close to. There was only so much a guy could take. Like Bruce loved to say, actions had consequences. But Bruce often forgot that a _lack_ of action did, too.

Give a homeless boy a purpose, and he’ll fight to save the city he loves. Throw a dead body in a pit of green water, and watch as it takes its grief out on the streets of its home. Pull a murderer from the rubble of a building, and when their victim understands what that means, he never feels safe again.

Jason would kill the Joker tonight, and if that act was what finally made Bruce cut him out for good, then he would be fine. He might just be ready to do the same.

All this time, Jason had tried to follow Bruce’s rule, kept his promise. He still didn’t regret the deaths, he doubted he ever would, but he wanted his family back. If he had to compromise his morals to get that, if he had to weather distrustful looks or hushed talk about his methods or wary caution every time he saw them... well, that wasn’t something he had been prepared for, but he had done it. Actions had consequences, and if he wanted his _family_ , he had to bear those consequences.

But he was so tired. There was too much salt. Every joint patrol where he didn’t put down his guns and grab a batarang was another week where he stayed in Crime Alley to escape the disappointed sigh Bruce made at the sight of them. Every crook he put in jail was out on bail within months, no matter how much evidence he dropped at Gordon’s feet. His reputation, his _control,_ that could be salvaged if only he tore the Bat off his chest and sunk back underground, and every day he made the decision not to he hated himself a little more. Every time he heard Joker’s laugh was another day he wanted to lock himself in the bathroom with his handgun and never come out.

He was strong, so he kept going. He never gave in to that urge for mercy. Talia told him he was going to survive whether he wanted to or not. Bruce didn’t fucking have a clue. None of the family did, not about why he killed and not about controlling crime and certainly not about his fucking mental illness or trauma. He didn’t talk about it anymore. But soon it would be over.

He passed the bombed out apartment building. The street was full of people, gawkers some, but mostly the families who had lived there huddled together and sobbing or simply staring as the GCFD pulled up, late yet again, and started trying to put the flames out. Wayne Enterprises could be counted on to rebuild, at least, but how many of those kids would live with nightmares and fear the rest of their lives? Jason didn’t stop to find out how many were dead.

When Joker was playing with Batman like this, drawing attention with small crimes and trails of victims of Joker Gas, he was building to a confrontation. Even the ‘crazy’ had their patterns and Joker was no exception –what looked completely random as you experienced it in the moment gradually revealed itself to be a method. Attention and fear were what drove Joker, along with the occasional, less frequent display of shitty humour. As the years went on, he got worse. When Dick was a kid, Joker’s worst crime had been simple murder and property damage, and a few times he had even given up voluntarily –Jason had read through all the old case files, and Joker turning himself in when the man he was blackmailing made Batman laugh had been a favourite. No one knew why he escalated, why he stopped latching onto weird fish-related insurance schemes and instead started making his Joker Gas deadly and getting his kicks from gutting people in inventive ways.

Jason didn’t know either, and in context his own murder had just been the starting gun to some truly heinous crimes later on down the line.

He could follow Joker’s route somewhat –he never could resist flinging shit everywhere he went, nor driving in the most gaudy vehicles he could get his hands on. This time it was streamers and blasts of yellow paint somehow mixed with acid, and the tire marks on the roads in their wake made everything easier, the distinctive matching lines of the Batmobile and one of the cycles leading him along. They were too far away from Amusement Mile for that to be the destination this time, the same for Ace Chemicals or the shuttered clown school he used when he wanted to be _messy_. Jason pictured the route in his mind as he passed a streetcar full of nervous commuters –Arkham, Barrett Park, then westward on East 4th until he made a pivoting turn north, and now the trail was zigzagging upwards into the business district.

Two major options, then; City Hall or GCPD headquarters. Which had most recently slighted the clown?

Jason made a sharp cut out of traffic and down a side street, ignoring the way his phone was ringing off the hook in his pocket. He wondered who it was, if Oracle just thought he was recklessly riding off to get some thrills or if she suspected he might be armed for a reason and decided to throw Alfred at him while the others were occupied. Alfred was the only one who he didn’t mind asking him to do things he didn’t like, the closest one in the family to understand his motivations. He wasn’t going to answer.

When he got to his destination, he stuck his bike behind the nearest dumpster and started climbing up the fire escape. His shoulder and chest ached from the bruising, but he got to the first landing with little trouble and kept going from there. The far off sound of sirens told him the direction he needed to head in, the shining beacon of the Batsignal just another stone on the path. The great thing about the edges of the business district was the ease of jumping from roof to roof, and with his gut still in bad shape he was definitely appreciative.

It also made him easier to find, which was when Batgirl showed up.

She looked a little worse for wear, her blonde hair streaked with soot –she had probably stopped to help with evacuation after the bomb. Jason slowed to a stop next to a big AC unit and waited while she tested her footing and warily watched him, and then she spoke up.

“O says you ditched your comm. Something you wanna share with the class?” the lower Gotham accent surprised him every damn time she opened her mouth. Two former Robins who ‘died’, maybe he should have done a bit more to try and show her the ropes. Too late to dwell on ‘what ifs’ now, if he ever could.

“Can’t a guy just watch some vigilante justice in action? I wanted to see how much death he gets away with this time,” Jason saw the way she paused, listening to whatever was being said in her ear. That was the problem with comms with the newer kids –relying on them their whole career, they didn’t know how to tune them out.

“Like you’re one to talk about death, Al Capone,” Batgirl retorted, and it made Jason snort despite himself. _That’s_ probably why they hadn’t crossed paths more, the others were worried her mouth would get him to shoot her.

“We’ve all got our demons, kid. Surely you’ve got some experience with that by now?” he walked closer, kept his hands where she could see them easily, and to her credit she kept out of arm’s reach. “Very least I ain’t gunning for you all anymore. Count your blessings.”

She scoffed, muscles coiled and ready for a fight, the same stance Barbara used to favour with some bits of League training in there, probably from hanging around Black Bat so much. But he could tell she was bracing for him to use his gun instead of his fists, ready to dodge more than grapple, and that, coupled with the nearly imperceptible pause as whoever was speaking to her made another comment, was when he struck.

Batgirl was good, he’d give her that. Training with Black Bat especially had made her more effective than the others when you took into consideration her willingness to fight dirty, the East End inside her bubbling to the surface an instinct as much as a component of her style. But instinct was a double edged sword when it came to anyone with actual League training, so when Jason got his arm around her throat and stuck one of his tranq guns into the meat of her thigh, she froze instantly. Getting shot by one of these things _hurt_ at close range, but it wouldn’t even get her benched once the numbness wore off in a few hours. It was a bit like localized anaesthetic, which was why he had to be careful not to hit a person anywhere in the torso –one of his tutors from his time with Talia taught him how to make it for prolonged interrogations.

“Sorry, Batgirl, but I’m not in the mood today,” he debated crushing her comm, but who knew how long she would have to wait for someone to collect her? Instead he just took her grappling hook and shoved her behind the AC unit, taking care to avoid the batarang she was using to try and stab him in her frustration.

“What’re you trying to do, huh?! Oracle already warned them you’re coming!” she snapped and tried to pull herself out of the corner, but her legs being dead weight didn’t exactly help her out.

“I’m being selfish,” he told her, which appeared to throw her off. She stopped spitting at him at least, her forehead pinching under the mask. “Decided if I’m gonna get thrown in Blackgate, it might as well be for something that matters.”

“Something that –wait, Hood, what the fuck?!” Batgirl tried to grab at his ankle as he straightened up, but instead fell on her face when she over-extended as he turned around to get going. “You aren’t seriously –hey, come back! _Hood_!”

He was really doing this, huh? One fucking text on an otherwise good day made him decide to throw the last 18 months of work in the trash, as if he never had a change of heart. Jason’s boots hit the roof next door and he hissed, a spot of blood blooming on his abdomen, and he thought about paradoxes and salt and years of being treated like a pariah in his own –his only –family because he wouldn’t break his moral code. A year and a half of losing control over Crime Alley and watching more and more of his neighbours get chewed up and spit out dead because he was too weak to go it alone. And not just those years, but ever since he was sixteen and Talia told him about the Joker and not for a single day since then feeling safe; worse, knowing that his own family thought he was over reacting because he couldn’t move on like Barbara or be grateful that Bruce had _tried_ to kill Joker at one point. Like it was some sort of consolation prize that _any_ effort had been expended back then.

There were consequences, there were tipping points, and Jason had finally run out –of everything. If he was going to be treated like he would snap at any moment, he might as well make sure he deserved it and go out with a bang.

Batman wouldn’t leave Joker yet, so he was probably going to meet both Nightwing and Red Robin next. True, they worked well together, but Jason had watched and seen that Tim still chafed when he was paired with Dick, especially when the stakes weren’t dire. A lot of resentment built up around that Robin costume, Jason should know, and a lot of baggage could come out into the open without much more than a sharp word or a pointed look. Tim had stayed with the League for a time, gone up against Ra’s al Ghul of all people and come out on top, but he still wasn’t the best fighter of their little lineage. And Dick...

Well, Dick believed in the best in people, but he was Batman’s first partner through and through. Jason ducked into a corner with poor visibility and switched a few things around, and kept on moving once he was sure he wasn’t about to bleed out, probably only one ripped stitch after Batgirl got in a lucky graze. He was tired.

Yet he still noticed the tell tale ‘whish’ sound of Red Robin’s fancy cape, and rolled with little difficulty to avoid Nightwing’s escrima sticks heading straight for his head.

“Man, B really doesn’t want an audience, huh? Pulling out all the stops for me today,” Jason kept his head turned to Nightwing and out of the corner of his eye watched their younger brother keep back, his staff already in his hands. “Thought we were past this, N? I’m hurt.”

“Batgirl already told us you aren’t going to spectate, Hood. Please, why don’t we stop this here and talk it out?” Nightwing tried, and Jason knew he was achingly sincere about it. He never knew how much about that night Bruce had cared to share with Dick, but he got the impression he may have mentioned that negotiating hadn’t worked, because Dick was still poised to defend. The way his sticks were placed, he was ready for the slow moving tranquilizer darts that Jason had hit Stephanie with. “C’mon Hood, you’ve made a lot of progress, just let it go. He’s not worth it.”

A shiver ran up Jason’s spine and he burst into laughter, and when both of his brothers took a step back in surprise he reached back and grabbed one of the guns in the small of his back. He aimed it straight at Red Robin up on the raised portion of the roof and kept his eyes on Nightwing as his chuckles trailed off into silence.

“You don’t know what _anything’s_ worth to me, Nightwing. Definitely not this,” Red Robin wasn’t moving an inch, not even to set down his staff –probably thought he could handle a few darts too. “I get it, yeah? If there was anyone you don’t want in your home, it’s the murderer, that’s completely understandable. I don’t blame you for it, it’s not your fault. But redemption goes two ways, Wing, and I’m so fucking tired I think whatever this brings down on me will be a _relief_ in comparison.”

“Jay, _what_ are you talking about?” Dick sounded actually worried, that was a nice change of pace. “You’re not making sense-“

Jason pulled the trigger, and a bullet tore through Red Robin’s lower shin, clean cut and bringing him down in an instant so he could stop the bleeding. In the next second, Jason grabbed one and took the other of Nightwing’s sticks to the arm, used his elbow to pinch it into the wall he backed into to avoid the stun option, and surged forward to slam his head into Nightwing right at the temple. It disoriented his brother long enough for him to push him back, wrench his escrima sticks from his grasp, and shove the stunning side into his stomach.

Dick was always so proud of how his weapons took down thugs like a sack of bricks –just because they were his own tools didn’t mean they wouldn’t do the same to him.

He caught his older brother before he hit the ground and moved him across the roof from Tim, who besides swearing up a storm as he hastily tended to his wound was also cussing Jason out quite effectively. He placed his guns back in their proper places and threw the sticks over the edge of the roof where they landed in one of the dumpsters down below.

“Why are you doing this? Are you going Pit mad again?!” Tim had discarded his gloves for dexterity and Jason was glad to see that there wasn’t much new blood bubbling forth under the layers of gauze he was handling. Based on the signal still in the sky, he figured he had a minute to dally and so he rummaged in Dick’s utility belt and tossed the extra medical supplies up to where Tim was sitting. He received a murderous glare for the trouble. “I thought you were trying to be better! Batman said you wanted to help us again!”

“’Pit mad’? What a joke, that’s not a thing. You either die in there or you don’t,” he moved over to the part of the roof that would let him use Batgirl’s grapple without tearing his stomach too much, but never turned his back on Tim. The guy was vicious when he was backed into a corner. “Batman said, Batman said. Still a daddy’s boy, huh, Red? I was too, way back when. Just wanted to make B proud,” the expression on Tim’s face was hard to read under the cowl, but it wasn’t nice looking. “I got lonely, Red. Wanted to be back in the family, but I had to atone, according to B. So I promised, no more killing. It wasn’t hard. What was hard was N’s so-called ‘progress’, which amounted to fuck all but letting me within spitting distance. I’m _tired of everything._ Being where I’m not wanted, putting my neighbourhood in danger, bracing for that clown to come after me. I’m done. And so is Joker.”

“Hood, it’s not going to help,” Tim said, skin chalk white –Jason looked down again, but there still wasn’t anymore blood pooling. “You won’t feel better, there’s always going to be someone else.”

“See, that’s what separates you and me, replacement,” Jason shot the grapple and made sure it was securely hooked on the gargoyles opposite. “You’re a professional.”

He ran towards GCPD headquarters, but realistically Batman would’ve tried to herd Joker into the municipal building –less chance for civilians to get hurt if he was confined to a big, empty building he hadn’t the chance to modify beforehand. He wondered what was waiting for him, now that he had attacked three of Bruce’s entourage, two of them his sons.

He had injured Nightwing when he first came back, but that endeavour ultimately ended with Batman trying to talk him down before lodging the batarang in his gun. He attacked Robin, still Tim at the time, and had been fought off by a Batman who was insensate with his anger and despair at how far Jason had fallen. When he started the Outlaws with Roy and Kori, Batman had been distant and cautious, treating him like a bomb about to blow at any moment. When he came back to Gotham, Batman had been distant and cautious, arranging a joint patrol every month because Jason agreed to his methods. When he visited the Manor, Bruce was distant and cautious as he chose his words with care, and he never took his eyes off Jason for very long.

Based on past experience, when Jason confronted him now he would be distant and cautious, waiting for Jason to make the first move, but he would be angry that Jason had attacked his allies. Like his first days as Red Hood all over again, without the advantage that a secret identity afforded him. On his better days Jason thought about how he would have turned out if he stayed a Rogue, and he could tell himself that he would’ve been miserable and lonely and distrusted by everyone around him. And on his worse days he didn’t have the energy to lie to himself like that.

He saw them there, clear as day on the roof of the Gotham municipal building, not so much trading blows as Joker’s strange fortitude allowing him to keep making cutting remarks long past when another person would have passed out. When Jason first started patrol as Robin, he had once watched a fight between them from a nearby rooftop because Batman hadn’t been willing to let him get involved so early. True, Batman didn’t _like_ the Joker back then, but they at least seemed to have some sort of repertoire, an understanding between them that life was as meaningless for the Joker as it _had_ meaning for Batman.

None of that was left these days; Joker killed, laughed, and sometimes slept in Arkham Asylum, and Batman hunted him down with the singular purpose of stopping him. There was no banter, no understanding of the other on either of their parts, and Jason had seen it before just as he saw it now –

-Batman hated the Joker. That was all there was anymore.

Jason’s boots hit the gritty roofing just as Batman finally got a good hold on Joker’s collar and hoisted him into the air –this meant Joker was the first to see him arrive. When his grin widened Jason felt his blood start boiling and the fear thrum heavy in his limbs, and he gripped his handgun so hard that the metal creaked underneath his fingers. Batman may have heard him land, or he may have been tipped off by Oracle –either way, he shifted just enough to have Jason in his peripheral vision.

“Well if it isn’t the chip off the old block! Wasn’t expecting you tonight, kiddo!” Joker brayed with his mocking cheer, staring at him with wide eyes through the blood running down from his hairline. “Why don’t you go wait downstairs while me and Daddy Bats here finish our _talk_?”

Despite himself, Jason felt viciously satisfied when Batman gripped Joker tighter and slammed his head into the nearby wall with such force that the scumbag lost consciousness with a gurgle. Batman let him slump to the ground in a heap, and when he turned to fully face Jason he was breathing hard and trembling with adrenaline.

Quiet, despite the police presence down on the street. Jason reached up and pulled off his helmet and let it drop on the roof next to him, and he locked eyes with Bruce through the Batman’s cowl. He had his handgun out of its sling and resting next to him at the ready, and his mind went quiet. His claustrophobically noisy head went quiet for the first time since Batman pulled Joker out of the rubble of the apartment building, and even if this turned out to be the wrong decision in the end –he didn’t care. He could think, he could _stop_ , and maybe at the end of this he could rest.

He could pull the trigger this time.

“Let me do this, Batman. I’ve waited too long already,” Jason felt the sluggish drip of blood welling up through the bandages around his stomach, a twinge of pain from his scuffle with Nightwing where the cut on his forehead had split open. When Batman tried to take a step closer, he raised his gun instantly and the older man stopped ten feet away, hands raised slightly at his sides and empty. “No, you don’t come near me. Not this time.”

“Hood, I don’t know what happened, but please think this through. No one else has to get hurt,” Batman’s voice was strange; mixed up between the soft rumble he used for civilians in shock and the restrained growl he fell into when he was feeling too much and knew he was going to snap. Jason was only too familiar with the latter, these days. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with him. Please, calm down, look; he’s done, he’ll be back behind bars within the hour. It’s over.”

“It’s _never over,_ ” Jason snarled with more feeling than he had let loose the whole day, the whole week –he was so angry and tired and mixed up about everything in his head. He had wanted his family back so badly but he couldn’t do it anymore, not if he had to give up his mind and his morals and his control over everything in his life. He hadn’t been prepared for that, but he had done it, he had _tried_ , but –trying didn’t always work out. There were some things people weren’t strong enough to handle. “I don’t know how I deluded myself into believing you all this time. How many years has it been, now? Do you even remember?”

“Of _course_ I remember!” Batman burst out, his jaw clenched tightly, his fists trembling at his sides. “I could never forget. It was the worst day of my _life._ ”

Jason had heard his siblings mention it –that something in Bruce died with him, that he nearly worked himself to suicide, that he tried to destroy every bond he had left, that he _tried_ to kill Joker in the aftermath of Sarajevo. That his death had mattered, of course it had, no one had _ever_ forgotten him.

“I believe you. But that isn’t good enough anymore,” Mind trembling, his hand and the gun he held in it remained steady. “It should have ended with me, Batman. He should have died with me, and we both should have stayed there in the ground. It would be better that way.”

“No, _no_ , it wouldn’t. You came back to us, Hood – _Jason_ , nothing could be better than that,” Now he sounded almost pleading. If Jason could trust one thing, it was that Batman believed what he was saying at the very least. He never lied to them when it came to expressing what he was feeling –whether that be for good or for ill.

As a child, he often heard Willis Todd yell at his mother when he was drunk. Most of it was the usual abuse and insults, how worthless Willis thought she was, the dead weight she and Jason were on his life. But once, when Willis was stone cold sober and angrier than Jason had ever seen, he had knocked Catherine across the face and sent her crashing into the table Jason was hiding underneath, and he said that he should have made her get rid of Jason at the very start.

Bruce was by no means Willis Todd. Bruce made mistakes, but he did genuinely love them. He could be a terrible father, but when everyone in their family had massive amounts of trauma they did their best not to work through, that was a given all around. There was so much hurt on both sides –so many times Bruce had betrayed him and so many times Jason had done worse in retaliation –that playing the equivalency game was pointless. Tit for tat didn’t work with issues like theirs.

“Like I said, I believe you. You really think that because I’m alive, that’s enough. Maybe it is for you,” Batman made a noise like he was going to interrupt, so Jason steam-rolled over him. “It isn’t for me. Not anymore. Look away, Batman, this can be over in a second. Let me do what you can’t, and once it’s done you can do whatever you want to me. You can throw me in Blackgate or Arkham, you never have to work with me, you never have to _see_ me again. Just let me kill him, just _let me!”_

“No. You shouldn’t have to do this, Jason, he –Joker deserves to suffer for what he did to you. He deserves to be put down. I can’t do it, but he does,” Batman looked him in the eye again, and all of a sudden Jason realized that he hadn’t put a domino on underneath the helmet. Whatever expression he was making, Batman could see it plain as anything, and the older man swallowed thickly before he went on. “Jason, you don’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve anything that happened to you. I’d change it all in a heartbeat if I could. Please, Jason, put the gun down.”

What did Jason deserve, if not this? Bruce always said that actions had consequences –where were the Joker’s? Six months in a body cast eight years ago, was that what he deserved for all the death and destruction he wrought?

“I’ll never understand you. Maybe we’re too different now, because I know you’ll never understand me either. You run yourself in circles and you never get the fucking _point!_ ” Jason was acutely aware of the time passing, the longer he waited here the more time Oracle had to rouse whatever backup she had left –whether it be Robin or Black Bat coming in injured, or Alfred piloting the Batplane, or paging the new kids from their beds. The seconds going by were like the ticking down of a timer to a bomb. One second too many and he was going to explode. “You must care about that scumbag in some sick, twisted way to think he can be rehabilitated, but we both know he can’t, Batman! He’s not sick, he’s a _monster!_ None of the other Rogues, no matter how bad they get, have _ever_ come close to him. Not Black Mask, not Zsasz, not even Tommy fucking Elliott!”

“We are not judge and jury, Jason! You’ve never understood that!” Batman was coiling again, in anger or in despair that Jason wasn’t listening to him, or indignation that Jason _was_ listening but would not concede. “We do what we can, but we have do so within the system. I’ve tried to teach you that! When the system fails, we work to change it! It’s the only way people will trust us, when we work with the law and hold ourselves accountable to it!”

“Oh you’re so full of _shit_!” Jason was boiling from the inside out, the ticking was loud in his ears, Joker was _right there!_ Bruce never fucking listened, not even when Jason was ready to implode right in front of him. “You think you know better than me? Better than _every_ _other_ person he’s killed, disfigured, crippled –you think you know better than all the people whose lives he’s ruined?! Who _wish_ he was dead every time they hear he’s out of Arkham yet again?!”

“It won’t make things better, Jason! When Joe Chill died, it didn’t make anything better! After I nearly killed _him,_ you were still dead in the ground!” Arguing, they always argued about everything no matter how many times Jason told himself he wouldn’t, no matter how many times Bruce told him he was glad he was alive. It always came back to this. “There will always be someone else! You’re just killing yourself by fixating on him!”

Tim had said the same thing. Like father, like son. When Bruce ‘died’, Jason had been sent to Arkham by Dick and made him regret it –but after he broke out, he left and was off with Roy and Kori by the time Bruce returned to Gotham. He knew all about Red Robin’s little whirlwind tour, of course. If there was any one of Bruce’s children who exemplified him, it was Tim, and if there was anyone whose truth aligned perfectly with Bruce’s, it was Tim. Death had never held merit for either of them, it had only ever taken from them.

“No, I’m not –and you wanna know why? I’m already dying, Batman. Every day that piece of shit keeps breathing is another day closer to when I blow my brains out,” Jason took a shuddering breath in during the silence his words had brought about. He had told himself he wasn’t going to drop an ultimatum like this, not when they were both angry and hurt –but dammit, he couldn’t help himself. He had to _know._ “If he dies, you never have to see me again. But if you don’t let me kill him, right now, I swear to god you’ll lose me forever. You call me your son, say you’re glad I’m back, alive? Prove it.”

Bruce just stood there, stunned speechless for once. It was late enough now that the grey, churning clouds from the bay had swept into the city and mostly covered the deep red of the sky. There were very few stars in Gotham, and when the Batsignal was lit its yellow glow drowned everything else out and drew the eye no matter where you were in the city. Some of Jason’s earliest memories were of sitting up on the rickety fire escape of his building when his parents were fighting and seeing the symbol reflected on the clouds. There were days he wished he never learnt more than that. Those days were rare.

“Please,” Jason’s eyes snapped away from the sky and back to his father at the man’s low tone. “Give me one more chance. We’ll get you help, Jason. We can get through this together. I love you, I just want to help. I’ve only ever wanted to help you.”

And with that, Jason could see it as clear as the Batsignal on the roof of the GCPD headquarters a block away, clearer than anything in the past two years or more. Bruce didn’t think he’d do it. He still didn’t believe anything he said, he still wasn’t listening to him even after he showed him the ugliest, most vulnerable parts of himself. Right now, on this rooftop with a gun pointed at him and the unconscious body of Jason’s worst nightmare crumpled there on the ground, he didn’t believe Jason would shoot.

Maybe it was faith in Jason that made him think so. Maybe it was the last year and a half Jason spent in Gotham following his rules and orders, chafing but always falling in line like a good son, like a good soldier. Maybe it was complete fucking self-importance, blinding him to reality and the chance he could ever be wrong in a deduction. Jason didn’t know what it was. He didn’t care.

Bruce was not fast enough to stop a bullet. Bruce was far enough away that even if Jason unloaded his whole clip, he wouldn’t hit the man who raised him and tried to give him a good life. Joker was there, Jason had a gun in his hand, and he was so fucking tired of wanting to die.

He raised his gun up like he was conceding, and as he stared at his father he knew that he loved him so much and yet hated him just as fervently; when he spoke, his voice broke halfway through.

“Y’know what, Bruce? You’re a real bastard.”

He lowered his hand, and shot the Joker three times in the fucking skull.

///

Nothing made sense after that point.

Time had seemed to freeze, the only movement the blood pooling on the roof out of the exposed hole in Joker’s head and the slow undulation of the clouds in the sky. Jason’s head was quiet. From Gotham, the sounds of sirens and shouting and traffic and the distant boom of construction reached his ears, a comfort even after so many years. The ticking in his ears had stopped. The heat that had plagued the city all day was sapped from the air all of a sudden, leaving him chilled.

It could almost be called peaceful, for a moment.

Belatedly, Jason holstered his gun, and the peace immediately shattered when a fist grabbed his collar and slammed him into the wall next to the roof access door. The pain that erupted from his shoulder and side was enough to make him gasp out loud, and the fury on Batman’s face wiped out any fight left in him and he went limp. He was suddenly, deeply frightened, but the disconnect of seeing the looming figure of this man as a protector for so long meant that all he could muster in the face of it was a blank, impassive stare.

Consequences, consequences; what were his going to be now that it was all over? What could Batman possibly do to him that was worse than what he had faced over the last eight years of his life?

“We had a _deal._ You could operate in Gotham City –you could work with us –if you didn’t _kill anyone!”_ It was almost a roar, Batman was so loud and so close. Jason blinked at him and made a weird noise in his throat, acknowledging but at the same time distracted. The quiet that had felt like relief only minutes ago was still there, but there was a buzzing in his brain too, getting stronger and scrambling his thoughts. “Right in front of me, you broke your word! And you attacked your brothers and your allies to do it!”

Batman lifted him up a little and slammed him into the wall again, and black spots started flitting into Jason’s vision. He was close enough that he could hear the faint sound of someone talking into Batman’s ear and see the lines of anger that transformed his face from what he knew to be his father’s into something _else_. It was fine, this was what he deserved. Batman would cut him out and Jason would live with that.

“You’ve made your choice. You can’t take this _back,_ Jason!” He shook him again and Jason’s head rattled around and his eyes couldn’t focus. “You aren’t welcome in Gotham. I’m turning you in.”

 _You care so much about helping people, Bruce._ Jason forced himself to nod through the fog. _You talk so much about the family and being accountable and making Gotham a better place._

Batman’s expression twisted again and he pulled Jason around and then pushed him back, away from the body and towards the opposite side of the building. As he hit the roof Jason had the strangest feeling that if he was wearing his uniform Batman would have taken the opportunity to tear the family insignia from his chest then and there. But instead he clenched his fists and stood there, waiting for Jason to –what, get up and try to leave? Fight back? Just fucking die again?

 _If I had given in and offed myself when the radio said the Joker was loose, who would you blame for that? Would you blame **me**? _Jason got his arms underneath him and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and blearily registered the blood dripping down onto the roof from his head and stomach. _When would it be enough, Bruce? Would a death like that have been easier for you? People can only hold on for so long, why can’t you see that I’ve been dying this whole time?_

“Why is it okay if I’m the one who dies?” Jason asked.

Bruce didn’t say anything, and the clock started ticking again.

When his helmet exploded a few seconds later, Jason nearly blacked out as the force threw him across the roof and over the edge. He lay stunned on the balcony below for a long minute and registered that his hand was clamped down on the detonator he built into his utility belt –he must have instinctively grabbed it. Jason rolled over with a lot of effort and pulled himself up onto his feet, and his stomach wound was just completely fucked now, no getting around it. Around the front of the building he could hear frantic shouting and something battering at the front doors, and he made a split second decision.

Even half dead Jason could scale a building like this in his sleep. He made it down to the ground within minutes, and without looking back he ran for the nearest manhole cover and heaved it open, for once glad that his city was too cheap to make them regulation weight. As he crawled inside he heard someone far above him roar his name, and an ancient switch in his brain flipped on like a shock –an angry father meant he had to run and _hide_ as quickly as possible. He dropped into the sewers and broke into a sprint at the same time a cold sweat broke out on his skin.

Out of all the Robins, Jason probably knew the sewers best. Croc wasn’t actually that murderous if you stayed out of his territory, and the craftier homeless kids regularly used the reservoirs that dotted the city as access points to get to the catacombs deeper in. Croc was spending some time in Belle Reve right now, so Jason didn’t even have to skirt the area, and he made a beeline for the centre of the city as fast as he was able.

He took a breather only once, when he stopped at an offshoot to a raised access point so he could use his phone one last time before he ditched it.

“If you have this number you must have a question for me.”

“Hey, Riddler,” Jason never thought he’d feel relieved at the voice of a Rogue, but life only got stranger on the second go around. “S’Hood. I’m calling in that favour.”

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, and then Eddie sighed. “Riddle me this, first, Red Hood. Are the rumours already spreading _true_ concerning what happened at Gotham City Hall?”

“Not much of a riddle,” Jason coughed and a stabbing pain shot through his chest –that probably wasn’t good. “Here’s one for you; if you kill a hundred people you get a bed in Arkham, but if you kill a single clown what do you get?”

“If I had any say? A peace prize,” Eddie said dryly.

“Close. I’m thinking if I don’t make myself scarce in the next few days, I’ll get thrown in Belle Reve same as Croc,” Jason hoped Oracle had too much to deal with right now to track his phone –certainly she didn’t have many people she could send after him –but realistically she already had him pinned here. Staying exposed like this was making him nervous. “Sorry to rush you Eddie, but that favour?”

“Very well. You know where to find it. As for the passcode, take the beginning and end of this millennium, and in the middle you put however many seconds are in a year.”

The weight on his shoulders eased. He knew that he had promised himself he would face whatever Batman wanted to do to him –but not when he was like this. Not when it had looked for a moment as if Jason was going to get beaten to a bloody pulp by his own father, years after he thought he was done worrying about that. “Thanks. Sorry I’ve been holding this over your head so long,” Jason took the second of quiet as his cue to hang up, but as he pulled the phone from his ear Eddie’s voice called him back.

“Hood, you’re a brat and you get on all our nerves, but –you did a good thing. I’ve hated that man a lot longer than I ever let on. Keep your favour, and I’ll arrange something for that neighbourhood of yours,” Jason’s jaw dropped open in surprise and he made a frankly embarrassing noise that Eddie snorted at. “Unlike what Sionis wants everyone to think, there are those of us who still have some integrity when it comes to our city. There’s also a reason why I never cause _drama_ on poker night.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jason sagged into the concrete and had to choke back a sob. _“..._ You’re a stand up guy, Eddie,” He quickly clicked the phone shut before he said something embarrassing to a supervillain, and once he chucked it down into the river he turned back and started heading for the catacombs.

There were two cathedrals in Gotham, long since torn down and built over top of, which had dug into the earth and created underground burial vaults back in the 1800s. Over the years of mafia influence the sewers had been expanded into them and connected to make drug smuggling easier, and once Batman shut that down they were mostly forgotten about, save for the people who slept down there on occasion. True to form, Eddie loved a good mystery, and when he started establishing himself as a Rogue he linked one of his better hidden safehouses to the South End catacomb.

Jason had gone to the Rogues’ poker night a few times, lost a bit of money and won a favour off Riddler –honestly he had either forgotten about it or never planned to use it, mostly because he fell into that old trap of thinking Riddler was a joke villain. But he’d stuck around a long time for a reason.

Once he was inside –2129 –he bolted the door shut and lit Eddie’s security system up, glad that they sourced from the same company so he could make sense of it. The place was a basement apartment in a building Cobblepot rented out and used to launder some of his extra funds, and apparently there was some story involving a statue of an Auk and a car chase through the West End that resulted in this little hideout remaining such for so long. Jason knew he should be more invested in what was going to happen come tomorrow, come next week or next year once he had to _leave,_ but – _but_ –

It was over. It was finally fucking _over_ and all he had to do was turn against the family again to make it so and –and he felt –

“I did it. It’s _done,_ ” he said to himself, and he staggered away from the security panel to find the bathroom, and his head was quiet and his limbs were buzzing and everything hurt, but the best part of it was the scraped out hole in his chest. Nothing was in there right now. Not fear, not adrenaline, not relief –it was like when he had died. He didn’t have to worry about anything right now.

He closed and locked the bathroom door behind him and tugged the first aid kit out from under the sink to put it on the ledge of the tub, and he took his handgun out of its sling and set it down right beside it. His tranquilizer guns went on top of the toilet tank and he threw his jacket and belt and fatigues on the seat, and once he was in his undershirt and boxers and blood-stained bandages he laid his hands on the rim of the sink and looked in the dirty mirror.

He looked like hell. The cut on his forehead was ripped open and bleeding just as bad as his nose, and over top of his bruises he was covered in the soot and castoff from when his helmet exploded. Underneath it all he had gone pale and wan, bags under his eyes and his scars stark on his skin, the white streak in his hair grey and brown with dirt and debris. At some point he must have been crying, because there were tear tracks through all the grime.

Besides that, though –he was smiling. He couldn’t stop himself from taking in the rest of the details –more blood at his shoulder, worse bruising and red areas where more of his skin would soon swell and turn purple, and small tears in his shirt where bits of his helmet had struck him –but even as he did, his smile turned into a grin and then he was laughing. In awe, in relief, in _disbelief_ that it was done, it was over, he never had to worry about that fucking clown _ever again!_

Elation didn’t even begin to describe it.

Through his delirium, he managed to unearth a small bowl and a clean wash cloth, and he used his elevated mood to bite the bullet and tear his bloody shirt and bandages off all at once. It brought him back to earth enough that he wasn’t shaking when he cleaned the first layer of blood away and picked out his ripped stitches. By the time he sat himself down in the tub to continue scrubbing he had a nice, neat line of new sutures keeping his guts inside him, safe behind a waterproof bandage.

By now, his routine for patching himself up after an outing was fairly standard except when he had to drag himself to Leslie’s –clean and stitch, deep clean, soak if he was allowed to, dry off, and sleep. If he felt secure, he would sleep in a bed, and if not he camped out in the tub with a gun or two at the ready. Needless to say the latter had been happening more and more often lately. Unless something drastic changed, however, Jason felt like he could handle an actual mattress tonight, so the soaking dragged on a little longer than he usually let it.

That could have been contributed to by the second breakdown he had that night.

It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as his bull rush toward City Hall. But his shoulders eased a touch too low, his mind stirred just that bit too much, and suddenly he was heaving great shuddering breaths into his lungs and his hands were pressed into the hollows of his eyes as he sobbed.

He had dropped that ultimatum like a fool, and now he knew the answer once and for all. For good or ill Bruce never lied to his children when it came to how he felt. Sometimes it was nice, because they never had reason to doubt he loved each of them beyond measure.

Other times it wasn’t so nice. Other times Bruce essentially told him that if he made the choice to kill, his own life was worthless. Implied that when it came to the lives Batman prioritized, Jason’s wasn’t on that list. Said he loved him and wanted to help and then banished him from his city, from his home, from the family. Bruce was honest throughout it all. If he told you what he thought of you, he meant it, even when it was contradictory –Jason had learnt how to tell over the years he spent at his side. It was a trait Jason himself had inherited.

So here he was. In one of Riddler’s safehouses hiding from his father, with the knowledge that while Bruce loved him he still had limits, and Jason had deliberately crossed his worst. As well as the truth he couldn’t deny; that Jason was never going to regret it. Not now, not if he got tossed into Arkham, not if he never saw Gotham again in his life, and certainly not if today was the last time he ever spoke to his family. If Bruce could have his limits, then this was Jason’s.

And if Bruce had been honest with him that he wasn’t welcome any longer, then Jason’s own words hung in the air as well.

_If he dies, you never have to see me again. But if you don’t let me kill him, right now, I swear to god you’ll lose me forever._

Jason had meant it in a specific way, of course. What he had _meant_ was that if Bruce stopped him, then that was it; Jason would wait, go home, and whenever they thought to check on him next would be when they found his body. People could only hold on so long. As a kid he had seen a few neighbours die that way; hounded by debt collectors or starving slowly or unable to afford the hospital bills keeping some illness at bay, and even very young he had filed it away as another route his life could take if he stayed in Park Row. Following some of the worst nights when he was homeless, he had even considered it.

Talia very unsubtly tried to keep his mind away from those thoughts when she was training him. But really, it hadn’t crossed his mind since that night he tried to jack Batman’s tires –of course, then once she told him about the Joker, it had crept back up on him. It was an option again, a viable option that in a lot of ways would have been a relief.

He wasn’t going to do that now. With Joker gone, the main stressor in his life was a non-issue. But the fact remained; Bruce hadn’t _let_ him do so in any capacity. He hadn’t believed him. Jason had to make the choice himself, along with the consequences that came with it.

Batman hadn’t needed to say it; Jason was never going to be his son again.

///

Jason curled up in the small bed in the corner of the safehouse, a gun at his side, and with careful fingers felt around on his arm until he located the subdermal tracker. Roy and Kori were the only ones who could pick up the signal since it was one of Roy’s inventions in the first place, and right now –he needed them. Even if it was only to say goodbye before he got locked up, they were his best friends, his _team,_ family just the same as the Bats even if they hadn’t seen each other lately while they tried to work their own shit out. He wanted to tell Roy in person why he wasn’t going to be able to help with his case next week, wanted Kori to know that he wouldn’t get in the way if she wanted to patch things up with Dick after this, considering his position.

He hadn’t been thinking of them when he contemplated dying, and he wanted to say he was sorry.

The tracker could either give off a steady signal for when he was being moved or lost the use of his hands, or he could send out blips of morse code if he was going to be in the same spot for awhile. Kori would still be in space, but since Roy was waiting on him for that case he decided on a message, and would wait three days before he turned himself over to the GCPD. After that, maybe they would visit him in whatever hellhole he ended up in.

‘-.-. --- -- .--. .-. --- -- .. ... . -..’

‘... --- ...|-. ---|-... .- - ...’ ‘... --- ...|-. ---|-... .- - ...’ ‘... --- ...|-. ---|-... .- - ...’

‘--. --- -- -. --.|-.. .- .-. -.-’

Jason double checked his tranquilizer guns were under the pillow, laid his hand on the grip of his handgun, and fell asleep. He didn’t wake up for a long time.

///

Jason fell asleep around 2300 hrs on a Wednesday and fully woke up at 2030 hrs on Thursday night. His entire body hurt as he dragged himself up off the bed and checked his injuries for any signs of infection, and his stomach didn’t thank him when he downed a glass of water and one of the granola bars Eddie had stashed in the cupboard above the sink. Luckily he didn’t hurl, but it was a near miss.

He sat himself back down on the edge of the mattress when he got dizzy, and after a few minutes decided to try and turn on the _ancient_ radio on the table. Willis had once worked a shortwave as a hobby, and when he wasn’t drunk or running drugs for Two Face he would –very rarely –sit Jason down and show him how it was done. Even that rig had been newer than this one though, and Jason barely remembered any of the specifics because half the time it happened he would piss Willis off and get a fist to the face for his trouble, but enough had stuck that eventually he managed to tune in. He had seen Alfred use an old one every so often as well, way back when.

Gotham had a thriving shortwave scene, although once the Bats had switched to Oracle’s setup they stopped tapping into it –Jason listened in himself, putting it on as background when he was working a case. True you got a few conspiracy nuts and Rogues recruiting, but opinions tended to be more honest on those channels. He would check the network later, after he figured out what the mainstream news was saying about what he had done.

_“-and the subsequent explosion on the roof of Gotham City Hall. Here is a tape report from GTHM News, on the scene last night.”_

_“It’s not known for sure but it is believed that the criminal known as the Joker has been shot! The Joker was in a confrontation with the Batman on the roof of Gotham’s City Hall, following a long car chase through the business district which left three pedestrians dead and twelve injured. The Joker escaped Arkham Asylum at four o’clock pm earlier today –as I say it has not been fully confirmed, but police radios are carrying that the Joker has been hit, and was in the immediate vicinity of the bomb which detonated only minutes after shots were reported.”_

_“Arkham staff, ambulance services, the Gotham City Fire Department, and the GCPD Commissioner Jim Gordon only minutes ago radioed that they were en route to City Hall as fast as they could travel. As soon as the bomb went off Lieutenant Harvey Bullock ordered the doors to the municipal building broken into, and a heavy police presence is currently inside. I’m receiving reports from the sightlines of the neighbouring buildings that prior to the explosion the once crime lord turned vigilante Red Hood made an appearance on the rooftop-”_

_“-and that the explosion seemed to originate from his trademark helmet. We are being updated as I speak that the Batman appears to be injured and the Red Hood is no longer within sight! Currently emergency services are pulling up to the front of City Hall, confirmation will come shortly on the Joker’s condition. From Gotham, Summer Gleeson, GTHM News and Radio.”_

_“This is GUTD 830 in Gotham, stay tuned for all the latest news on the shooting of escaped Arkham inmate, the Joker. It’s six minutes past nine o’clock. Here is a bulletin from GTHM Newsroom last night, at twenty minutes after ten o’clock.”_

_“Daggett Press reports from Gotham City that known criminal the Joker **was** shot less than 30 minutes ago during a confrontation with the Batman at City Hall. Photographer James Harrigan of the Daggett Press said he saw blood on the rooftop underneath the Joker’s head. Harrigan said he heard three shots but thought they had come from the street behind him until he saw the blood on the rooftop. Harrigan said he was unable to get a clear photograph of the shooter, alleged to be the Crime Alley vigilante the Red Hood, due to the angle of his location and the subsequent explosion on the roof of Gotham City Hall. Hardit Singh of the DP asked Detective Montoya of the GCPD if the Joker was dead, Montoya gave no answer.”_

_“The Joker was reported to be caught in the immediate vicinity of the bomb which detonated on the roof of Gotham City Hall after a lengthy confrontation with the vigilante the Batman. Paramedics entered the building roughly ten minutes ago and have not emerged yet. Singh of the Daggett Press says that the three shots which were fired did not immediately precede the explosion, but occurred nearly five minutes beforehand, during which time the Batman and the shooter alleged to be the former crime lord the Red Hood engaged in struggle. Pandemonium broke loose on the street in front of City Hall as soon as the blast occurred. It took nearly five minutes more for emergency services to arrive despite a police blockade covering the streets surrounding the buildi-.”_

_“That was a bulletin from the GTHM Newsroom last night, just before the situation was confirmed by Commissioner James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department. Now for the latest information we have here at GUTD 830 in Gotham, we are of course standing by to give you all available information as it comes to us. I will repeat that two paramedics who responded to the situation last night surrounding the escape of the Arkham inmate ‘the Joker’ say he has died of bullet wounds. Multiple confirmations of this information are as follows.”_

_“A report sent out at approximately ten twenty five pm last night from the Gotham City Police Department to all of its officers communicated that ‘the Joker’ had died. GCPD press secretary Danielle Proxima and Commissioner James Gordon announced not ten minutes later that ‘the Joker’ was pronounced on scene at approximately ten fifteen pm last night, and have confirmed that the shooter was in fact the Red Hood, Gotham City vigilante. ‘The Joker’ died hours after escaping Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, the third such instance in as many months. Commissioner Gordon would not address any questions on the condition of the Batman, who was reported to have been injured in the blast. The body was taken to Gotham General Hospital and was confirmed by Physician Dale Hardy at eleven pm last night. After the initial announcement was made, Commissioner Gordon left the front steps of City Hall grim-faced and followed the ambulance to the hospital.”_

_“Mayor Hill has taken precautions today –shortly after six am this morning he sent an order to all precincts and commands throughout the city directing that all policemen in Gotham on duty today between eight am to four pm be held in reserve until eight o’clock tonight. It is now twelve minutes after nine o’clock. The explanation given is that the order was issued in case of any unexpected reaction in the city to the shooting of ‘the Joker’. As of this broadcast, crowds have been spotted gathering in public areas and are generating a great deal of noise and fanfare –we will have a live reporter, Anish Garza, covering the exact nature of these demonstrations in just a few minutes.”_

_“A bulletin from the GCPD; the Red Hood, infamous Crime Alley crime lord turned vigilante, remains at large at this time. Police believe he is armed and dangerous and is likely still in the Gotham area, most likely in the East End near Park Row. More than fifty law enforcement officers from several agencies, some with canines, searched near Gotham City Hall until surveillance footage showed that he escaped through a street level manhole into the sewers. Gotham Police say that the Red Hood is their main suspect in the death of ‘the Joker’ last night, but so far have been unable to find any clear photographs of the vigilante without his mask. Residents are advised to stay on alert and keep an eye out, they say he was last seen wearing black fatigues and a brown jacket and is roughly six foot two inches tall, with black hair and pale skin. He is injured and all hospitals and clinics will be monitored, please alert the GCPD of any sightings but do not engage, as the suspect is armed and has been involved in several ongoing and cold cases surrounding various deaths in Crime Alley over the last three years.”_

_“Ladies and gentleman, the coverage of the investigation into the death of ‘the Joker’ will continue on 830. This is GUTD 830 in Gotham City, stay tuned for the latest news a-”_

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Jason jumped out of the daze he had fallen into while listening to the report and hissed as his wounds –or really, his entire fucking body –twisted and seized painfully. He staggered over to the security panel, heart racing and panting in agony and checked the camera in front of the door. He did a double take –if that was Roy, he’d either packed on a few pounds since they last saw each other or was dressed in one hell of a disguise.

Cautiously, he picked up one of the tranquilizer guns and approached the door. With the amount of crazy shit their respective families got up to even without the Justice League getting involved and jacking it up to eleven, he and Roy had a system in place if they ever needed to confirm who the other was –several levels of it, in fact. Without being immediately face to face, he went with one of the easiest and tapped out the rhythm for ‘Red Solo Cup’, which if he ever got out of prison after this he was going to kill Roy for making him memorize that shit.

Do do do DA! Do do do DA!

A few seconds passed, and then came a few taps in the vague style of Abba’s ‘Straight Shooter’, and he relaxed.

Roy bustled into the apartment in an uncharacteristic rush, and Jason barely opened his mouth to ask him if he should grab his gun before his best friend was stripping in the middle of the room. Roy threw the suit jacket and tie down on the floor along with his duffel bag in a huff and was halfway through the dress shirt underneath by the time he turned around to look at Jason and blew the hair of his wig out of his eyes.

“This is why I never use this disguise! It itches like hell!” He pulled the shirt off too and instantly started scratching at the thin straps that were holding the fake beer gut onto him, and he shot Jason a pleading look. “Jaybird, _please_ help me get this off before I botch my daring rescue any further!”

And it was like the last year hadn’t even happened. Jason huffed for show but wasted no time in carefully bending down to rummage in the duffel bag and pull out the adhesive remover and a cloth, and then while Roy untangled his fake stomach straps Jason started on the wig. When the thing finally came off Roy shook his hair out like a dog and dropped his prop gut on the bed, and inside it there was another cloth which he used to scrub the makeup off of his face and hands.

Jason watched him for a minute, and when Roy was done he turned to look at him with a grin –it slid off of his face in an instant as he took in whatever realm of hell it looked like Jason had crawled out of this time, and a moment later he was hugging him tightly. Jason lurched and caught his balance and didn’t even think about it before hugging Roy back and hiding his face in his friend’s neck.

“Jesus, Jay, you fucking scared me. _Compromised_ , fucking hell you Bats know how to induce panic,” Roy dug a hand carefully into Jason’s hair and kept him pressed down, so he heard it when Jason’s breath hitched without his consent at what he said. “No, wait, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, I know that thing hurts if you use it too much, shit-”

“No, it’s-” Jason choked on air again and couldn’t even pull away, Roy’s iron grip on him too comforting, too restricting. “I’m not a Bat anymore.”

Roy stilled very deliberately, and Jason was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he still had a tranq gun in his hand where it was pressed between his friend’s shoulder blades. He clicked the safety on and tossed it onto the bed.

“You heard?”

“Are you kidding? It’s making the stations in _Metropolis,_ ” of fucking course it was, the one time the rest of America decided not to pretend that Gotham didn’t exist and it was for _this._ “Jay, you fucking did it. Oh my god, you should’ve seen it out on the streets on the way here –people are _partying_! In _Gotham_! I think I saw that mobster you’ve been fucking with –Galante –his guys are giving out free food and I swear Penguin was on the radio saying it was _about time_ , only, in rich bastard speak-”

Using his arm muscles was like slamming into the brick wall all over again, but Jason pushed himself back and looked Roy in the face in complete disbelief. What... _what?_

“You’ve been sleeping the whole time, haven’t you,” it wasn’t really a question, he had read the confusion on Jason’s face. Roy’s grin got wide again and he put his hands on Jason’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Jaybird, you _killed the Joker!_ Everyone in the city’s having the time of their lives!”

That was... the stone that had dropped in his stomach, dread at what Roy would say, was batted to the side as pride took root, and the whiplash threw him off so bad he had a physical reaction. Jason cleared his throat and shook his head, but had to groan when he got dizzy again –Roy helped him sit down, his jubilance simmering down to bring out the worry.

“Jaybird?”

“Batman kicked me out,” so many contradictory feelings in his head, making him run hot and cold and inverted all over the place. The relief of what he’d done still couldn’t be beat, but the cold reality of the looming future settled heavily down on his shoulders. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dress shoes Roy was wearing as part of his ridiculous disguise. “I killed Joker. So I’m done. Called you here to say goodbye.”

“Wait, what? Hold on,” Roy’s hands were on his shoulders again but this time with pressure, grounding him to the bed and the room and the scraped out hollow in his chest. “Jason, slow down. What happened?”

“Joker escaped. Heard it on the radio –had a panic attack, and –and Bruce texted me about it, told me to stay away. I don’t know why that –it was –it made something snap. I went after them,” Barely a day ago and it already felt hard to recall, the burning, somehow calm fury that overtook him after that text, so subtle that he hadn’t even realized how angry he was until he was spilling his guts to his father on the roof. He felt sick. “Took out Steph, Tim and Dick –non-lethally. Found Batman and Joker. Told him –told him if he didn’t step aside, let me kill the clown, I wasn’t gonna last, and if he did then he could do whatever to me. He didn’t believe I was gonna do it, so –so I did it. I shot him.”

Jason lapsed into silence, that minute of peace replaying in his brain, until Roy made a soft, encouraging noise. He shook himself out of it.

“I broke Batman’s rule. Broke my promise to him. Killed someone. So –so I’m not welcome in Gotham anymore. Don’t think the family either. And he was gonna turn me in before I ran,” Jason’s eyes and throat and face felt hot, hot, hot, and god he hated crying, he hated feeling like this. “I just bolted. Didn’t even think –just dropped into the sewers. Called Riddler, got the passcode for this place. Gave myself three days before I –turn myself in. Face the consequences of my actions. Wanted to tell you why I wasn’t gonna be able to help you out, wanted to see you and Kori before –before.”

Roy was silent as a statue, so Jason confessed a little more, figuring it couldn’t make things worse. “And I wanted to say I’m sorry. You told me to call you if –if I ever wanted to end it and –I wasn’t going to. I was just going to.”

“ _Christ,_ ” Roy’s hands moved fast and tethered Jason into his chest almost painfully, and he could feel his friend shaking his head as his grip got tighter, somehow. “You _don’t_ apologize for that. At the end of the day –fuck, Jaybird, I don’t want you to feel like that but how could you _not?_ I –thank you for calling me here now. Fucking _god_ , Jay.”

Jason hesitated, but pulled his arms up and hugged Roy back again. The older man hadn’t been nearly this… tactile when they and Kori were running around as the Outlaws, he had always kept it pretty friendly, casual even. This was a lot of touching even if Jason recalled how Roy had acted around Kori when they were dating –what was going on?

“You’re not turning yourself in.”

Jason jerked in surprise, but Roy was stronger than him in the arms and didn’t let him back away. So he shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Roy, no, I’ve got to-”

“Fuck that! You don’t _have_ to do anything!” Roy was trembling in anger, hands gripping tight. “You did Gotham a _favour_ , you hear me? Batman kicked you out for that? What the fuck is his problem?” His head started shaking back and forth again as he curled over Jason, the bed actually making him a little taller for once. “That’s fucked up, Jay. He’s not just Batman, he’s your _father_ , he’s not supposed to –he’s supposed to protect you and _help_ you! _You!_ Not the man who killed you! What’s his fucking rule worth if he screws over everyone around him to follow it? _Fuck!”_

“That’s –that’s not-”

It was everything he had ever told Roy these last 18 months, in his lowest moments when he _needed_ to talk to someone. Roy had remembered all that, Roy was so angry not at him for breaking his promise or turning against the family –Dick had been _his_ friend longer, Bruce was close with Ollie and Dinah –but at Bruce for what he’d said. He was angrier than Jason had been, last night, watching the last two years slip out of his grasp.

“He wanted to help me. I didn’t listen.”

“Did he tell you to calm down, too?” Roy asked caustically, but when Jason didn’t deny it he started swearing again. “Jay –Jay, you’ve got to know that’s not how you de-escalate, I’ve seen you handle people about to blow, you _know_ how people act when they've been pushed too far. What about that girl in Central City, huh? Do you blame _her_ for acting like that?”

“ _Roy-_ “ Of course he didn’t, she had been put through hell, she had been suicidal at the time. But they weren’t the same, Jason had training, years had passed since he died, he had family to help him and people to call. This was his fault, he was _glad_ he had done it but it was his choice and his burden and Batman was right, he was right to kick him out and get the stain out of the family name –

“No, Jay, none of that’s true. _None_ of it,” Roy’s voice was quieter now and his hand was back in Jason’s hair and he was crying again, fuck, _fuck,_ what was wrong with him? “Your brain’s finally registering that you’re safe. It’s completely normal. Jason, Batman was wrong, _Bruce_ was _wrong._ You shouldn’t have to move on from what happened to you, you shouldn’t have to accept it. You’re not a stain, you’re my best friend, and Joker –he took away your entire _life_ , Jay. There’s no equivalent to that.”

Jason shuddered –how had he ever got so lucky to be friends with Roy Harper?

“Jason, you’re not turning yourself in. I’m not going to let you, I’ll tranq you and smuggle you out of Gotham myself if I have to,” Roy said firmly, with such steel in his tone that Jason didn’t even try to argue. “What do you think would happen to you if you did? This isn’t like when you went to Arkham when Dick was Batman, you were still a Villain then. Jay you’ll _die_ in prison if you go now, everyone knows the Red Hood sided with the Bats this last year. That or you’ll get stuck under Waller’s thumb, and –fuck, you know what Croc’s gone through, there. I won’t let you, you _can’t._ ”

“What do I do, then?” Jason asked, and his voice was shredded all to hell and he hated this. Wished he could just rest forever and not have to worry. “Roy, he’ll never pick me, no matter what I try. A year and a half on the straight and narrow, never twitched a _toe_ out of line and that’s all gone. And he’s not going to change his mind this time, because –because I won’t let him. I can’t _do this_ again,” It was always the same; love and hate and arguing and a cold truce between them and nothing was ever good enough. Hadn’t eight years been enough? “I already had a father who made me feel worthless, I can’t have another.”

Roy’s throat clicked as he swallowed, and his hands soothed along Jason’s shoulders, his neck, his scalp. When was the last time he had been touched like this? Was it before Kori had to go back to Tamaran?

“What do I _do_? Why do I feel like shit –I chose this! I killed Joker and it’s finally over so why do I _feel like this?_ ” He had made the choice, he had told himself that he wouldn’t mind it if Batman kicked him out, locked him up, _disowned_ him after all these years. And it had happened just like he knew it would and yet he felt like he was dying all over again. “Roy, I just wanted my family back. I just wanted to feel safe. I finally killed him, I killed him, why is he still hanging over my head? Why couldn’t Bruce just be my father when I _needed_ him?”

“I don’t know, Jaybird. I’m sorry,” Roy’s voice sounded thick now, and he drew back just enough to sit down on the bed next to Jason and pull him back in, arms around his neck, Jason’s forehead on his shoulder. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to sleep, and tomorrow when we wake up we’re going to put on the disguises I brought and we’re going to leave. We’ll walk through the streets a bit, so you can see what Gotham’s _celebrating,_ Jay. Then we’ll take the tickets I bought last night and get on the train to Star City. You’ll stay with me.”

Jason shook his head, it was too much, but Roy shushed him.

“Jay, you got me out of Qurac. You helped me stay sober during one of the worst recoveries of my life, when Waylon couldn’t be there and I couldn’t afford to get back to the res. You helped me trash Ollie’s fucking _car,_ ” Roy kept talking, never letting him think for too long about what lay beyond the door. “You’re my best friend. I love you, Jaybird. Let me help you, let me take care of you. I’m not going to leave you this time, I promise. I’m sorry I did after Kori left. I thought we were both better but –neither of us were okay. Let me do this.”

This wasn’t going to work. Something always went wrong; Jason could never make people stay even when they wanted to. But when Roy spoke, Jason always trusted what he had to say. So he nodded, and let Roy bundle him up on the bed, and fell asleep next to his best friend for the first time in over a year. Whatever happened now, at least he had someone with him.

///

Two months passed quietly in Roy’s tiny apartment in Star City. Jason stayed out of the vigilante scene but still helped Roy research his cases, until he got so restless he went off for long excursions from dawn to dusk. For awhile it was like he was trapped in a fugue state, those three days surrounding the Joker’s death swirling in his brain but never quite sticking long enough to make a dent. Eventually the manhunt in Gotham was called off, and eventually the press moved on from discussing the now dead ‘Clown Prince of Crime’, and eventually Jason managed to sleep through the night entirely. Roy didn’t coddle him, knew it would just piss him off once he came back to himself; he didn’t need to be handled, he needed to have someone who _knew him._

No one from Gotham ventured into Star City as far as either of them could tell. The gossip channels swirled with speculation about what happened between Batman and the Red Hood that night, but even then it was hushed. With Tim in Young Justice, Dick on the Titans and Bruce in the League, no one talked about it much if they could help it. But everyone wondered.

Roy didn’t say a fucking word about it. It was no one’s business, and when he let himself think about the state he found Jason in –in one of the _Riddler’s_ boltholes no less –he still got spitting mad. It wasn’t a contest, and god knew Roy himself had faced a lot of shit in his life, but he wished Jason could just catch a fucking break once in awhile. When he saw the tracker message his mind had raced and gone into panic mode instantly, and even though he tried not to make assumptions about what the situation would be, it still somehow turned out worse.

Roy had an idea that things were tense between Jason and the Bats, but he had no clue it was piling up quite so badly before that night.

But finally something happened one chilly night in early September, a day or so after Roy returned from a mission with the Titans that made him want a drink –for whatever reason, this particular excursion had been difficult for him, getting along with the others. Something to do with Ollie kicking him out, something to do with thinking he had to leave the Outlaws when Kori did, Roy wasn’t sure if the answer was any good or if he was just stewing in old painful thoughts. Regardless of _why_ , though, the whole endeavour made him tense and irritable and he had seriously contemplated punching Dick’s stupid perfect teeth in just to release some tension.

But there was an off air to Nightwing as well, not just Roy, so in the end he had cursed in his thoughts but got through the day without causing trouble. Star City was a welcome sight, and Jason had taken to cooking now that he could sleep properly, and… it was nice having a roommate again. It was nice to be close to someone after so long either solo or briefly dropping in on other teams’ cases as a consultant, doing government work in his daylight hours. He had missed it.

He was putting the dishes in the sink while Jason prepped the coffee maker when the doorbell rang. Jason snapped the lid shut in surprise and his head swivelled around to find his nearest gun –stuck to the underside of the table –but Roy waved him down. Just because they hadn’t ordered anything didn’t mean it wasn’t just a neighbour. He had the front camera connected to his phone, in any case.

It wasn’t a neighbour.

“Just –go in the work room for a bit,” Roy said, even as Jason shook his head. “Jaybird, they’re either here for you or for me, and only one of us has any active arrest warrants on our heads. I can figure out what their deal is before I give Batman a piece of my mind.”

Surprise flickered on Jason’s face, and he looked at the door again before grunting, frustrated. “ _Fine._ But I’m coming out if you yell ‘Batman’.”

“Aw, you remember our safeword,” Roy couldn’t pass up saying, and Jason hit him in the arm with a bright red face.

Once the door closed behind Jason, though, Roy’s good mood dampened. This was going to be a shit-show.

Bruce and Dick stood on his welcome mat awkwardly, both dressed far too nicely for the area and far too formally for the walkway that connected the apartments in this block to the stairs. His own goddamn home and Roy felt like the one out of place in his patched up jeans and cut off shirt, and it must have made his expression a tad frostier than he wanted to open with because both of his visitors seem stiff (although he expected that from Bruce).

“Bit out of the way for a social call, Dick?”

His friend ducked his head slightly, aware this wasn't normal, at least. “Hey, Roy. Can we come in?”

He really didn’t want to –he was still tired, back on his usual stakeout schedule since he returned from the Titans mission, his own cases to handle alongside the extra job. But if this really was going to turn into a confrontation, he definitely didn’t want it happening where nosy Mr McKenna could hear from his seat down in the parking lot. He finally had a few neighbours who didn’t give two shits about a vigilante next door but the trade off was that they absolutely _could not_ pass up gossip about family drama.

“Fine. Make sure the door’s closed.”

Roy’s apartment was small, especially by Star City standards, and he lived in what some might call a bad neighbourhood, so he made the best of what he had to work with. Keeping vigilante business out of sight was paramount in any living space that could have unexpected company drop by, so he had moved all of his equipment and his work station into the tiny bedroom and bought some very dark curtains. His bed, on the other hand, occupied what would normally be the living room and you could see it from the front door. Luckily the door was at the end of a hallway that was nearly six feet deep, only a closet on the one side, and so even though he let the two Bats in he could still block them from properly entering his home.

No one spoke until Bruce shut the door, and it was Roy who did –he crossed his arms and planted his feet in the space between the hall and his tiny kitchen, and he narrowed his eyes severely when Dick tried to step too close. It made the other man stop in his tracks.

“ _What_ do you want?”

Dick still seemed taken aback at his hostility, but behind him Bruce just looked grim. On the floor above them a commotion bled through, muffled, of several voices all talking over one another and laughing loudly, and Roy frowned at the way it made the tension worse.

“We’re here to see Jason, Roy,” Dick said quietly, watching him for a reaction. Well, he may not be a Bat, but Roy had to do the same gala circuits as Dick and he wasn’t a scrub at acting until the drugs chipped away at his good sense.

“Great, ‘cept he’s not here,” on the counter the coffee machine chugged on obliviously, making odd puffs of air and mechanical whirrs he hadn’t yet been able to iron out. “And unless you’ve got, like, another case you need help with, I’m in the middle of my own.”

“I mean, I believe you, but Oracle kind of-” Dick winced at whatever expression Roy’s face was making right now, but pushed on regardless. “-observed-from-the-street-while-you-were-on-the-mission-with-us and somebody who looks a heck of a lot like Jason was in here.”

“Putting aside what a wild breach of privacy that is, so what?” Roy’s brain had always moved fast, and right now it was comparing the two options he had before him. Either tread carefully and continue denying that Jason was here and weather whatever surveillance Oracle was willing to do for this –putting Jason on edge once he realized the apartment was being watched and that Bruce and Dick would be scrutinizing them –or he could bluster his way over their arguments and the surveillance would still happen, but he’d be able to rip Bruce a new one before that. He knew which one he preferred. “Until you’ve got a warrant, you ain’t coming in here. And unlike you all, I’ve barely got a civilian identity to uphold –you push me and I won’t hesitate.”

The blatant threat made Dick jerk back like Roy had slapped him, and Bruce put a hand on his son’s shoulder reassuringly, the Bat-glare out in full force. Roy glared right back.

“Think very carefully about what you’re saying, Mr Harper,” he said.

Roy scoffed. “I’m not scared of you, Wayne. Not anymore. I’ve been in the game almost as long as Dick, I’ve been on the Titans and led my own team and I’ve _built_ who I am now myself. I’m not that fuck-up I was three years ago anymore _._ Trust me, I’ve thought long and hard about this,” the coffee machine beeped in the background in an otherwise silent, tense moment, and the splash of normality made it easier. “You leave him alone, you hear me? You stay _away_ from him.”

“Roy, we just want to talk,” Dick had recovered and was standing tall, projecting an air of calm and neutrality. He was used to defusing tension after so long leading the Titans and even his stint as Batman a couple years ago, but it could only go so far. Roy privately thought if Jason hadn’t been in the next room over, he might actually have been able to calm down if Dick asked it of him. “The last time we saw Jason something was wrong, he wasn’t in his right mind. We want to make sure he’s alright.”

“Fuck your talk. None of you tried to talk to him _after_ he took out that monster. _Especially_ not you, Wayne,” Bruce had the nerve to stand here in his home and try and use Roy’s friend to get into his good graces? Fuck it, Roy would never have been able to bottle this up. “I know what you said. I know what you _did._ Your own son tells you he wants to die and you kick him out and cut him off. Do you feel like you’ve still got the moral high ground, protecting that piece of shit to the bitter end? Was it worth it?”

“Jason made a choice,” Bruce rumbled, gathering himself up into everything but the cowl, growing still and cold and putting steel in his spine against Roy’s criticisms. “Several, in fact. He injected Stephanie with a rare tranquilizer that if misused can be deadly, he shot Tim through the leg and knocked Dick unconscious and left them all incapacitated on Gotham’s rooftops. Tim is only just getting back on his feet. We all tried to talk him down and find out what was going on, and he barrelled through it and did the one thing he promised me he wouldn’t. Surely you can see why I had to act? I can’t have vigilante murder in my city, Roy, you _know_ what Gotham is like!”

“ _He had a mental breakdown!_ ” Roy felt close to one himself right now, yelling in Batman’s face in the hallway of his shitty apartment. “Ever since the Outlaws disbanded, do you know how many times he’s called me, just to talk? _None_. Whenever he called me, it was because he was stressed, he was scared, he was paranoid. I had to make him promise me he wouldn’t just –wouldn’t-” Roy cut himself off, could barely say it. He took a deep breath and continued at a quieter volume. “He promised, but when I found him after that night, he told me it hadn’t even crossed his mind to call. _Actually_ planned to turn himself in, even though he’d probably get shivved or snatched up by Waller. He was inconsolable – _Jason!_ If you told me when he found me in Qurac he could act like that I’d’ve laughed in your face!”

“I wouldn’t have allowed Waller to get her hands on him,” Bruce growled. “He had people to call, he had access to treatment. We would have helped him if we had known, if he had _asked._ ”

“He never said anything,” Dick was frowning, eyes glazed like he was thinking back over something. “He always seemed fine when he was at the Manor, standoffish maybe, but that’s just how Jay is…”

“Yeah, when he’s _backed into a corner_. The only time I ever saw Jason relaxed was when we were on a deserted island or in _space_ ,” Roy was so angry right now –mostly at himself for not doing more to straighten this out earlier. For not putting an arrow in Joker’s head himself and saving them all the trouble. “I cannot believe I’m listening to this. I can’t believe you have the gall to watch Joker break out and wreak havoc month after month and then tell me Jason should’ve _talked_ to you about it. Like he can just get over being re-traumatized every time it happens. You kept him at arm’s length all this time and when he finally can’t take it, you blame him. That’s not what family does. That’s not what a _father_ does.”

Roy thought maybe _some_ of what he’d said would get through, but if it did the Bats didn’t show it. Dick had drawn himself straight-backed again, his posture the same as when he was debriefing after a mission gone sideways, and Bruce’s face was set in stone. Roy opened his mouth to keep going, but then Dick’s eyes jumped onto something behind him inside the apartment, and he heard footsteps.

“Jason,” Bruce greeted, and Roy took a step back so there was space beside him for Jason to fill. He looked calm, put together, except for the tension in his shoulders.

“Bruce. Dick,” Jason nodded back. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

There was a long moment of quiet, and then Bruce straightened, seemed to lose a bit of the Batman from his face. “I came here to make a few things clear.”

“If this is about taking me back to Gotham –it’s not going to happen,” Jason’s back was tilted and rigid –god, the Bats spoke so much in body language but _whatever_ their dialect was it was difficult for Roy to pick apart on the fly. Still, he was glad that Jason was no longer acting like being locked up was an inevitability. “Sh-Shooting Joker wasn’t a crime. It was a public service.”

Dick’s face did something complicated a moment before Bruce answered steadily, “You’re never coming back to Gotham. Not even to Arkham.”

The line of Jason’s shoulders got tighter, “Oh,” he clenched his jaw, “Okay.”

Jesus. At least when Ollie and him had their worst days it involved yelling –some actual _communication._ This whole interaction had the stink of several layers of rancid paint underneath a shiny veneer, and Roy got the feeling that even though Dick was obviously here as a mediator, if it continued like this there wouldn’t be enough said to _need_ that.

“There were… _extenuating circumstances,_ as I understand it,” Bruce said, the biggest concession he had made so far in this entire interaction. “But you still broke our deal. The Red Hood is done.”

“So why are you here now, Bruce?”

Bruce hummed and pulled a few papers out of his pocket –plots on a map, Roy realized. He passed the paper over to Jason and waited as he scanned it, brows furrowing the longer he looked.

“These are my safehouses.”

“As many as we’re aware of. I want you to identify those we’ve missed and let us clear them for you,” Bruce also took out a pen and offered it, and Jason accepted without taking his eyes off the map. “We can refurbish any that need it and convert them to affordable housing. I’ll arrange any of your belongings to be sent to a storage container close by here, and our patrol routes will be adjusted to cover the areas you controlled. I can relocate anyone vulnerable you had under your protection as well, if you give me their names.”

Roy locked eyes with Dick, who appeared pained but hadn’t said anything. What did his silence mean? Did he _agree_ with Bruce? Was Roy the only one in the room who could see how fucked up this was? Next to him, Jason stared at the map and twirled the pen once between his fingers, and then held the paper back out to Bruce without having made any annotations.

“These are the only ones you need to check on-”

Bruce glared, “ _Jason-”_

“-since the others are already taken care of. So’s anyone who I protected,” Jason finished. “I arranged everything the first week after I left.”

“From Star City,” Bruce sounded doubtful, wary –or was that just confusion? Roy had been around Jason and Dick too long to work out whichever shade of frown a Bat with less social skills was wearing.

“Turns out when you kill the guy everyone hates, the Rogues give out a few favours,” Jason said simply, as if Roy hadn’t been accosted on patrol by one of _Roman_ _Sionis’_ goons and handed a briefcase of blood money or tracked down by Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn and forced to ferry back a phone number, a box of homemade _weed brownies_ and a promise of back up whenever Jay next needed it. “Knock yourself out with patrol, too, but Crime Alley’s already been claimed, with my blessing. Don’t start another goddamn gang war.”

Jason shook the map he was still holding in the space between them, and Bruce slowly accepted it. Clearly this had not been what he expected.

“Tell Tim that if he needs a favour after this, he can _ask._ I realize that shooting the kid was a bit much,” Jason said this to Dick, who nodded after a moment. “You have my number, but the only one who I’ll accept any calls from is Alfred, if he’s inclined. Unless there’s anything else, I think you should go.”

It was quick and blunt, and complete bullshit; Jason was still wound tight as a spring, he was just trying his best to keep from jumping. Bruce squared his shoulders again and tucked the papers and pen away, but he didn’t leave just yet.

“Jason, you’re still my son. That has never changed, not for a moment,” Bruce reached forward and placed his hand on Jason’s elbow, and no one else moved an inch. “I’ll always have your six, if you ever need it. Just call.”

For a split second, Roy could see Jason take that olive branch. He would step forward and share a stiff hug, a few words about how he’d be sure to keep it in mind, and then in a year or two Bruce might soften enough to invite him back to the Manor for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Shorter, if Jason said he regretted it. Maybe a few more years after that Bruce wouldn’t mind so much if Jason dropped into Gotham occasionally as long as he never put on a mask again and let Oracle keep an eye on him. And probably one day Roy would get a call from Jason, wherever he was, and they would talk about ‘the good old days’ and Roy would ask about the family, and Jason would audibly shrug and say they were doing alright. That he had seen them at Christmas or a birthday, and that he and Bruce had argued again, and when they hung up Roy wouldn’t be able to guess when Jason would call him after that.

Jason always thought sticking it out meant things would get better. But suddenly Roy wasn’t so optimistic about that.

Jason stared at Bruce for a second before his face pinched in a very particular way and he pulled his elbow away from Bruce’s touch, taking a step back entirely.

“No. No, you don’t get to do this. I won’t _let_ you,” Jason’s hands gripped the fabric of his jeans and his shoulders set defensively, his face went red. “I crossed your one line, Bruce, but you did the same to me. When I told you you’d lose me if you protected him, I meant I’d be _dead_ again. And you didn’t let me kill him. You didn’t _believe me._ When I –told you to prove it, all you proved was that everything comes second to Batman. I was _scared_ of you. I don’t know you anymore.”

“Jason? What-” Bruce took a step forward and Dick reacted first, his hand across his father’s chest to stop him from advancing, his eyes on Jason. Jason hadn’t flinched; instead he hardened and puffed up to his full height, and when he swallowed his throat made a sharp ‘click’ sound.

“You haven’t acted like my father in years. I tried and it was never good enough, I’m never good enough for you no matter how much _good_ I do. There’s always something –with Mom it was the drugs and with Willis it was the drink. _You_ –you care more about Batman and Gotham City than you do your own family,” Jason jabbed a finger in Bruce’s face –Dick and Roy seemed to have been forgotten about. “You say you love me and when I believe you, when I try and help you, I always end up feeling like dirt. Over and over again. You said it yourself, Bruce, you can’t take that back! We’re done.”

“ _Jason,_ ” Roy backed away from the front hall a little, feeling intensely like this wasn’t something he was supposed to see when Bruce’s voice wavered on that word. “Please, I didn’t know. You never _said_ anything.”

“I told you for years that the reason I put monsters down is to make their victims feel safe again. Ever since I came back, _three years_ I’ve told you I wanted the Joker dead, I’ve wanted that ever since I was sixteen and Talia told me he’d gotten out _three times_ since you put him in that body cast!” Jason looked like he was about to punch Bruce in the face, but at the last second he flung his fist out and instead cratered the drywall next to him. “You don’t get to hurt me and then act like it’s all forgiven because you love me. I’ve forgiven you for not saving me and for not avenging me –but not for that, Bruce. I can’t do this anymore.”

Jason turned around, snatched his lighter and pack of cigarettes off of the table, and then he hesitated, back to them all.

“I don’t want to see you again.”

He slammed the door to the balcony behind him with an echoing thud that got the neighbours downstairs pounding on their ceiling. When Roy turned back to the Bats in his front hall, Bruce was facing the door, leaned against it, and Dick –well, Roy hadn’t seen Dick with an expression like _that_ in a long time.

“Hey, man,” Roy touched his friend’s shoulder gently. “I think enough’s been said today.”

Dick sucked in a sharp breath and Roy couldn’t help it –he tugged the blue wonder in for a crushing hug like old times, like when they had all been shiny and hopeful instead of dragged through the mud and patched together. Back before a hundred horrible days had reduced them to doing what they could instead of doing what they should.

“How did it get this bad?” Dick asked.

“We’re all fucked, Dickie. But you Bats repress and deflect and never talk about anything plainly, and people can’t _handle_ that. Jay couldn’t handle it,” at least with Ollie there were always words, even if they were shouted in anger. At least Ollie had never really gone through with the ‘Dad’ thing –knew that Roy didn’t want or need him to replace Brave Bow. In retrospect, that would have made everything surrounding his addiction just that much worse, even if it hadn’t completely gone to shit anyway. “You’re all or nothing, y’know, fine enough most of the time. But not when it’s about morals and thoughts and volition. I don’t know if he’s going to change his mind about this.”

A shuddering sob was dragged in against Roy’s chest and Dick’s arms tightened briefly, “Nothing’s going to make this better..."

Over near the door, Bruce was still turned away, his head bowed and still as a statue.

“No, probably not,” Roy said honestly. Jason wouldn’t appreciate being approached now that he had drawn a new line in the sand –even if some small part wanted them to try and mend bridges, the bigger part of him would just keep pulling away until he disappeared entirely. Reconciling wasn’t always in the cards. “But hey, he’ll talk to Alfred. That ain’t nothing.”

A nod, and Dick pulled back. His face was red and splotchy like he was suffering allergies, still an ugly crier even after all these years. When he smiled tightly at Roy, he was reminded why he had stuck around on a team with this guy for so long, even when it got hard. “You’re a real good friend, Roy. Give me a shout if you ever need anything.”

Roy might have said some crack about taking care of himself, but the atmosphere still felt too heavy for that. “Sure, Dick. You guys should head out.”

Dick nodded, and he carefully approached Bruce with one hand on his father’s elbow, the other going forward to touch his forearm, maybe his wrist. Roy didn’t stay to hear what his friend was murmuring to the older man, just retreated into the kitchen and took note of when the front door creaked open and closed with a dull snap.

He let out a low breath, exhausted from the sudden rush of emotion and tension. He could still see Jason chain smoking out on the balcony through the window, and he took a few minutes for himself to calm down. He made up the coffee while he waited, mind drifting idly, briefly touching on Brave Bow before it glanced away respectfully; when the cream was back in the fridge he picked up both mugs and padded over to the door, juggling them to get at the handle.

“Jaybird?"

Jason twitched, but then jerked his head to indicate Roy should join him. He approached with the coffee and handed Jason the mug he liked best, the one with the weirdly square handle, and Jason took one last drag off of his cigarette before he crushed it into the ashtray. He took a long sip and stared out at the street a good minute more before he sighed and let the tension drain out of him.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice flat. “I –thanks for saying all that, Roy. You didn’t have to.”

“You’d do the same for me if Ollie relapsed,” Roy pointed out, and Jason let out a puff of air from his nose, acknowledging. “I’m sorry it came to this, Jay. It’s shitty all around.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was always gonna end up this way. Borrowed time and all that,” Jason took another drink and his shoulders lowered a little more. “It feels strange. To know it's... over. Everything I ever had in Gotham is over and I’m never going to see it again. I don’t know if I can get past feeling afraid of him,” Jason looked out onto the street, and Roy could guess that the way his eyes flickered, he was checking each of the cameras he could see.

“That’s a pretty big ask from anyone, Jay,” Roy said. “Doesn’t have to be some big ending, though. You could see other places; take a roadtrip, visit the res with me. Gotham’ll always be, well, right here,” he knocked his fist against Jason’s head and got the shadow of a smile in response. “Having to give up on your home… it’s one of the worst things _I’ve_ ever felt. Especially when I really needed somewhere to go. But hey, look at me now. I got through it alright.”

Jason hummed, “Roy, you could get through anything,” he fiddled with the chipped ceramic on the rim of his mug, picked off a bit and it fell into his coffee. “There was this little bodega on East 29th, run by an Italian family. Used to go in there when Willis got too drunk to remember that bruises to the face were frowned upon,” Jason made another one of those almost amused huffs of breath, face still mostly neutral. “Their kid, some punk named Danny, he used to give me a soda if I took out the trash for him. He got dead in a gang brawl when I was on the street. I always told myself I’d drop in on them again, see if they needed anything from the Red Hood, but… I dunno. I guess I just assumed I’d have time.”

Roy took a drink himself for lack of a response. Most of his memories about the reservation were the hazy, rose-tinted ones of a child, and Star City –well, he hadn’t grown up here. The bad memories were tied to people or things he had done to himself, and those were all pretty straightforward. But Gotham had always been complicated for the people who lived there; it chewed everyone up no matter where they came from or where they went.

“S’what they say; ‘you can’t go home again’. Just gotta get used to it,” Jason put the mug down on the railing and raised his arms up to stretch –Roy got a glance at his stomach and was gratified to see that the bullet wound was completely healed over by now. “Y’know what? I hate this. I hate that I had to lose everything again just to feel like I could keep living. It shouldn’t have got that far.”

“You’re right,” Roy smiled at the forceful confidence Jason was projecting, a little bit of his old self from their Outlaw days shining through, even if it was fake.

“I hate that I’m never going to stop missing him. I hate that I felt better talking to fucking _Riddler_ than I did my own father. I hate that he made me think about Willis when he grabbed me on that rooftop. I don’t-” Jason scowled and shook his hands out from where he had been clenching them into tight fists at his side. “I don’t want to feel so shitty anymore. I don’t want _this_ loss to ruin the rest of my life. I want to get _better._ ”

“Hey, Jaybird?” Roy interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Stay here, with me. I know it’s kind of small and grimy, but I want you to stay,” Roy grinned at Jason’s flummoxed expression and put his own mug down on the concrete floor of the balcony. “You don’t have to feel like all that forever, and you definitely don’t have to do it alone. You want to go to therapy? I’ll drive you. Want to put on a shitty ski mask and punch some drug peddlers? I’ll grab my hat. Want to join a new age cult where you only wear togas all day and smoke weed? Sign me up.”

Jason snorted and pursed his lips as he rolled his eyes. “Roy…”

“I’m serious! Hand on heart,” Roy hooked his arm around Jason’s neck and gave him a sideways hug –it was becoming more and more normal to do so ever since the safehouse and he was pretty sure Jason didn’t mind. It made Roy feel better, too. “You and me against the world, man. At least until Kori finds her way back. Then I guess we can let a girl into the boy’s club again.”

“You’re a moron,” Jason scrubbed a hand through Roy’s hair roughly. “But… okay. That sounds nice,” he sounded like he didn’t quite believe it, but Roy would show him. Jason would probably always miss Gotham and his family like a limb, but he didn’t have to go it alone. Not if Roy had anything to say about it. “Keep the togas and weed to your dreams though, Roytoy.”

Roy snickered and when Jason grinned back, he knew that everything would turn out okay.

**Author's Note:**

> And if this was an AU, I'd like to think Roy and Jason team up like in Red Hood/Arsenal, maybe this could even be considered pre-slash. For full angst factor, though, Jason never reconciles with Bruce.
> 
> (full disclosure i am a Bruce Is A Good Dad stan but certain continuities... ugh no wonder people cant see it)
> 
> also i drew some art;  
> https://red-bat-arse.tumblr.com/post/640705208584978432/jason-todd-has-killed-the-joker-and-all-it-cost


End file.
